Take A Break, Son
by Jaydrabbles
Summary: When Hamilton and Jefferson's arguing gets out of hand on what's supposed to be a relaxing fishing trip with George Washington, the president forces the two to take a break in Monticello for a minimum of two weeks. How will the two rivals last in such close proximity? Jamilton. Many other side pairings. Modern AU of sorts. Eventual M content.
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay, so yes. I should be paying attention to the other three unfinished stories I have posted. But this pairing is something I haven't been able to get out of my head, so here we are. This idea came from the knowledge I recently found that George Washington had literally attempted to go fishing with Hamilton and Jefferson once because his doctor ordered him to. I decided Laurens would be a good fit as the doctor for purposes of this fic, but he was by no means the real doctor and the events I write didn't necessarily happen this way or at all in the past. This is merely me taking the time to enjoy the pairings this fandom has that I've come across. Thank you for taking the time to read this.**_

* * *

The day was young, with the sun barely peeking over the vast amount of water before the trio. The birds had begun to chirp, in fresh pursuit of any available worms they could find. Nature had always calmed the older man and he had thought sharing the peaceful experience with his two hardest working employees would prove to do them some good as well. In hindsight, George Washington realized he should have chosen anyone other than the two bickering men at his side. He had expected too much out of his employees and friends, the man thought with a sigh.

 _Mr. Washington, sir," The doctor paused, a faint grimace appearing before being replaced with a nervous smile. The action went unnoticed by George Washington as he was too busy reading Hamilton's fifth email of the hour. It was, to no surprise, a complaint of Thomas Jefferson's presence. The man sighed and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose, attempting to subside the ever growing pain blossoming from inside his head. The tired man raised his eyes with hesitance to look at the doctor addressing him, eyes squinting as the harsh lighting sent another searing stab behind his eyes._

 _"I'm glad to inform you that nothing is wrong to the point of affecting your long-term health," Washington sighed in relief. "Yet."_

 _The word was such a simple three letter word, and yet it made Washington noticeably stiffen. The man has clearly been subjected to copious amounts of pain, resulting in a permanent frown and large bruises beneath his eyes. The man hadn't had sleep in days, and had most definitely not slept well for at least a month. He would take anything this doctor was willing to prescribe to make his constant headache go away._

 _"Yet?" The male copied, his voice laced with dread. The doctor was nodding his head, scribbling something down on a notepad as his eyes were trained on the laptop set before him._

 _"You're under far too much stress, Mr. President. I can prescribe to you a higher dosage of ibuprofen than you will receive over the counter, but that will only do so much. You need to take a break from stressful things in your life, such as work or, perhaps, certain people." The man lifted his pen long enough to dot i's and cross t's, then handed the prescription note to George. The man looked over the sloppy handwriting before managing a tight-lipped smile._

 _"Thank you, Laurens." The man breathed, eager to finally find some relief from his headaches. The president stood from his seat on the uncomfortable bed provided for each patient passing through the private doctor's office. He picked up his jacket from its place on the aforementioned bed, preparing for his leave._

 _"And George?" The use of his first name tensed Washington once more, and he ignored the sudden appearance of stars dotting his vision as he whipped his head around to asses his old friend._

 _"Yes?" George replied steadily, tightening his grip on the prescription note. John Laurens gave his friend a pointed look, something he rarely did to anyone other than Hamilton._

 _"That's not a suggestion, it's an order. Take a break, relieve some of that stress."_

 _Washington barked out a laugh, relief flooding through him as the tension he had built within himself seeped out. He grinned at the shorter male, the conversation itself already lessening his pain. He had not expected such risky words to flow from his friend's mouth. A hint of nervousness seemed to leak back into John's posture as he waited for George's response._

 _"A break does sound pleasant." Washington replied softly._

"-Dammit, Jefferson!" The sharp voice cut through Washington's memory, dragging him back to reality just as he felt a sharp searing pain bloom in his cheek, sending striking colors of red passed his eyes. He heard two collective gasps, followed by a resounding splash of water. Spluttering followed suit, topped off with a growled, "Hamilton, you fucker."

George Washington ignored the rising anger within him long enough to calmly reach up to the offended cheek, pressing gingerly to asses the damage done. He winced as the new wave of pain was accompanied by a very wet feeling. The wetness was a warm contrast to the cool metal embedded in his cheek, and George reluctantly pulled his fingers back to stare at the fresh blood on his fingertips. The man looked over at his two comrades, who were blatantly yelling at one another as Thomas struggled to pull himself from the pond. Thomas was doing most of the yelling, comprised mainly of curse words amongst many flourished insults in Alexander's direction. Alexander was too busy laughing at the sight of a usually composed Thomas Jefferson covered in mud and screaming to the point of incoherence. As the man finally stood on the slope of the bank, Alexander promptly took it upon himself to push Thomas back into the water. However, the shorter man had not taken into account that he would not surprise Thomas with this childish move twice in a row, and Alexander found himself falling into the muddy pond along with his political enemy. The short man shouted indignantly as he rose back up from the water, his eyes furiously landing on Jefferson. The taller man was now the one to laugh as he gazed at the man who looked something akin to a drowned, muddy rat.

Washington sighed exasperatedly, moving his attention back to the more important issue at hand-the fish hook embedded within his cheek. The ideal thing to do would be wait and go to Laurens so the doctor could professionally remove the fishhook, but the man found himself jerking the metal out before he could convince himself otherwise. He swore quietly, the pain soon accompanied by a much grander flow of blood now. He glanced at the men who were now back up on the bank, soaked to the bone, and glaring heatedly at one another. Washington hadn't even noticed their bickering had stopped in his mission to remove the fishhook.

"Men." George Washington spoke, clearing his throat as he held a napkin to the open wound. Alexander's eyes softened as he took in the appearance of his father-like figure. The older man had blood drying down his neck and the napkin was quickly changing from a vibrant and clean white to a dark red. The young man suddenly felt incredibly guilty, despite it being Jefferson's fault. Alexander sent a dirty look toward the man next to him, scooting away from the muddy individual as he suddenly realized how close they had been standing. Alex found he couldn't get far enough away from Jefferson as quickly as he'd like to.

"Sir, it was Jefferson's fault, he started it." Alexander protested, causing said man (who was still too close) to snort.

"As if, you were the one who-"

"Gentlemen, enough." Washington declared, promptly fizzling out a new argument between the two before it could truly be started. He would be here all day, otherwise.

Washington glanced to his forgotten fishing pole, and felt another sigh build up within him. He kept his mouth shut though, and turned back to the two before him. Only one of which had the audacity to look ashamed. Jefferson simply stared back with indifference, and perhaps a little irritation.

"I brought the both of you out here to _relax_." Washington glowered, his anger rising once again as he felt blood seeping from the napkin and onto his already stained fingers. This time it was Alexander's turn to snort, while Jefferson's eyebrows raised higher than George thought possible.

"Clearly," He ground out, "that was a mistake." Alexander went to speak, but kept his words from spewing out as they so often did, because Washington held his hand up to silence him. Washington was one of the very few people who could control Alexander, at least to an extent.

"It has come to my attention that my capabilities are being limited due to the amount of stress my body and mind are under. I will be taking a two week long break, and after _this_ fiasco," Washington pointedly looked at the two mud covered males before he continued, "I have decided you two will be taking a two week long break as well."

Alexander and Thomas both began protesting at the same time, but it was apparent that the words were falling on deaf ears as George Washington took his phone out to send a text. He ignored both of them until he was finished with his conversation. They had soon turned on one another, placing blame on the other as if it were second nature. Alexander was wildly shouting, his words so difficult to understand because of his overuse of the word 'fuck'. Thomas was much more refined than Alexander, but any longer and he would be reduced to an incoherent mess as well. The two always did bring out the worst in one another. Only Alexander could make Thomas scream at another person in _public_ of all places. This gave George a sudden thought, causing the man's mood to lighten almost instantly.

"Gentlemen!" Washington called out sharply, silencing them once more. Alexander's face was blood red from anger, and Thomas panted as he tried to regain his composure. The oldest of the three watched with a blatant warning written in his features, and the two understood they had overstepped a boundary. Alexander Hamilton no longer looked angry, he simply looked wary.

"You will both retire to Monticello for the duration of these two weeks,"

"What?! No way! I have to work, Sir-"

"Quiet, Hamilton." Washington replied, although there was no bite to the statement. The man just sounded tired. Oddly enough, this quieted the young man quicker than chiding him ever could have. Washington assessed the two of them for a moment before he was certain they would let him speak. Jefferson seemed to have a permanent grimace on his face, but looked as if he would no longer make a peep. Good, Washington thought.

"You _will_ go to Monticello, and you will work out your differences. I am starting this break off with two weeks for you gentlemen, and I will be checking in. If I deem it necessary, I will make it a month." Washington stated with finality, leaving no room for arguments. He looked between the two, daring them to protest. They kept silent, so the man finally turned around just as a vehicle rolled onto the gravel road above the bank of the water.

"Be in Monticello by noon tomorrow or I will not hesitate to fire both of you." Washington warned, picking up his pole and heading to the parked car. A servant gladly took the pole, and began to inquire him about the injury. The man waved the concern off, and slipped into the back seat of the lavish car. Alexander watched in disbelief as his employer rode off so casually after making such a threat. There went his plan of sneaking into the White House every morning.

Alexander turned to glare at Thomas, heat rushing back to his cheeks as he found the man already staring back.

"This," Alexander started, before huffing. This was all Jefferson's fault. He just had to claim Alex was baiting his hook incorrectly. The shorter man trotted over to pick up his fishing pole, then noticed Jefferson's laying next to it.

"You're riding with me. Go pack." Jefferson declared, his voice cutting through Hamilton's thoughts like a searing knife. The man jerked his head up and sneered at his enemy.

"Like hell I am, that's like four hours in a car with you." Alexander replied, causing Jefferson to raise his eyebrow questioning.

"You don't know how to get to Monticello, and I'm not giving you the address." The man replied, fueling Alexander's hate-fire even further. The man gritted his teeth, picked up the second pole that did not belong to him, and promptly threw it into the pond he had been submerged in only minutes ago. As the pole hit the water, it made a satisfying splash before sinking to the bottom. It was most likely still within the shallows, but the water was too muddy to be certain. Jefferson swore behind Alexander's back, making the shorter man smirk triumphantly.

"I'll be at your apartment at seven tomorrow. Don't oversleep, Jeffershit." Alexander spoke, trudging up the bank in his drying clothes. The mud caked onto him couldn't even wipe the grin off his face as he heard sloshing in the water, followed by many curses in his direction. Not even the thought of Virginia could dampen his mood now.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hello, welcome to chapter two of Take a Break, Son. I hope you all will enjoy this little story as I write it, as I have the layout pretty much set for this story. I'm hoping to make this one a little lengthy, see how well I can do with a longer fic. Let me know your thoughts and helpful criticism is always appreciated!**_

* * *

Alexander Hamilton was infuriated. No, he was appalled. How dare Washington threaten his position like that. Alexander was an asset his boss could not afford to lose. He worked non-stop, always keeping ahead of the schedule. It was as natural to him as breathing, or insulting Jefferson. He didn't _need_ a break. And certainly not one with Jefferson, of all people.

And _Jefferson_. That twit had always had it out for him, but this was the last straw now that his job was being compromised. This, of course, was Jefferson's fault. The irritating man always started everything.

Okay... So he was exaggerating. It was actually more often than not he who initiated a fight between himself and the Virginian enemy he'd developed over the years. Jefferson was simply so irritating that Alexander couldn't help himself. But Alexander would never hinder his job, so this was not his fault.

The dark haired male stomped up the stairs to his apartment, still fuming from his unresolved fight with Jefferson. The dried mud on his clothes weighed Alexander down, and the faint stench of fish followed after him annoyingly. God, he needed a shower.

The elevator in his apartment complex had been down for months, with no sign of a repair. While the stairs provided a quick exercise, and he usually didn't mind them, the unmistakable chafing that comes with wet clothing quickly proved to be a nuisance. Thirteen flights of stairs and wet clothes did not mix, period.

He was glad Washington had at least sent him off with a ride home. The servant had attempted to contain his shock and ultimate displeasure of a filthy Alexander Hamilton in his backseat, but it was a facial expression Alexander was accustomed to receiving. It was also an expression he excelled in ignoring.

The ride home had been silent and awkward, but was much better than attempting to hail a cab in his appearance. Or worse, walking home.

Alex fumbled up the last steps, his breathing louder than usual. God, when did mud get so heavy? The brunet shoved his hand into his right pocket for his keys, but his heart sank as his hand only came into contact with damp cloth. He shoved his other hand into the left pocket, knowing full and well he had no reason to place his keys in the left pocket. They were always in his right. He once again came into contact with wet cloth, and perhaps a bit of algae. Alexander groaned, sinking to the filthy concrete floor of his apartment level. His keys were gone, likely lost in the vast pond George Washington had behind his home.

The man sat for many minutes outside his apartment, at a complete loss for what to do. He was rendered silent for once, until the sound of his friends rapping caught his ear. It was a distorted version of them, and Mulligan's beat-boxing sounded less than ideal under the watery tone, but it was there nonetheless. His ringtone. His phone was ringing.

With the angelic voice of Lafayette rapping quicker than he could bother to understand emanating throughout the hallway, Alex lifted himself up enough to pull the phone he thought to be destroyed out of his back pocket, and hastily answered it before the call could go to voicemail. The screen was flashing between on and black, but it did not seem to affect the incoming call. Alex considered it a win.

"Hello?" Alexander breathed, his heart thumping excitedly. The phone might actually work.

"What the hell, Alex? Why can't you answer when I call you?" John Laurens' voice rang through the phone irately, and Alex could have kissed the man if he were there.

"Have you been writing or something? I've called at least five times!" The man explained, his words slurring together at the rate he began to speak, but Alex wasn't concerned with the chiding.

"John, come to my apartment right now!" Alex interrupted, practically shouting it into the phone. The other male grew quiet, and Alexander was worried the call dropped or something.

"What the hell Alex, why would I leave work-"

"Just come now! And bring the spare key I gave you!" Alex demanded, and then the the line abruptly went dead. Alex grinned smugly, and prepared himself for a short wait on his best friend.

* * *

Alex didn't have to wait long for John to arrive, the man had a car after all. It was a much more manageable silence the male sat in as he waited impatiently. His phone had begun to glitch once more, so he refrained from attempting to use it. His hope for it to continue working did not deter.

The time ticked by slowly as he waited, listening for an indication of John's impending arrival. He turned his head toward the staircase as he heard footsteps, as he was certain it was his friend. The only other person who lived on his floor happened to be an elderly lady who preferred amazon to going out for anything. She only left her apartment once a week for groceries, and that was always on a Sunday. Today was Thursday, so it had to be John. Excitement welled up within Alexander at the prospect of a shower.

As John planted his feet on the last step, he looked up to find his friend a complete and utter mess. The younger man was sitting outside his apartment, covered in dried mud and algae from head to toe. It was near impossible to tell the color of his clothing, and his hair seemed thicker than ever before with mud caked into the low ponytail. The only thing truly recognizable was his eyes, the bright caramel eyes that conveyed more emotion than anyone else's eyes John had ever seen. Even Hamilton's trademark dark circles weren't visible.

Alexander was up on his feet before John could even so much as finish ascending the flight of stairs. There was an impression of Alexander's form along the concrete from where he sat, where the dampness from his clothes seeped into the concrete.

"John, thank god!" Alex jabbered, rushing to meet the doctor halfway. John took in the sight of his friend, thought of the situation he had just left, and suddenly things clicked into place.

"Mr. Washington took you fishing." John offered, the words enough to stop Alex mid-sentence. The filthy man stared at his friend incredulously. How had he known? Alexander pointedly not followed him as the doctor made his way to the locked door, attempting to think of how John could have read his mind.

John took his keys from his pocket, pilfering through them before finding the one entitled 'Ham' on one side. He slid the key into the door before speaking to the stunned male in the hall again.

"He should've known better." John turned to Alexander with a small smirk. "You're an utter klutz."

Alex's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he growled out something incoherent. The shorter male charged toward John threateningly, a familiar gleam in his eye. John couldn't help but roll his eyes at the intimidation ploy, and twisted the door knob before roughly pushing the door in, the only way to properly open the stiff door. The door groaned in protest before giving away to John's weight and opening. Alex flicked mud and algae onto his friend before entering his apartment, proof that his bark was worse than his bite. Alex was too fond of John to truly do any damage for a statement he begrudgingly accepted as true. He _was_ a klutz.

Alex flipped the lights on angrily as he walked through the doorway. John sighed and wiped the mud from his favorite shirt before following suit. The man watched as Alex trekked mud through the small apartment, heading straight to the bathroom. He shut the door quietly as Alex slammed the bathroom door. When Alex was truly angry, the man had trouble speaking until he could calm down. A shower and clean clothes would calm him down considerably, so John wasn't worried. He instead made his way to the kitchen to cook a small meal for them.

Alex's non-stop nature frequently interfered with his health, so John was constantly worrying about his food consumption and self care. It was common for his friend to skip meals for days, as well as forego sleep. The end result always involved a weekend recovery when Alexander physically couldn't continue to function on coffee alone. John and Lafayette took turns caring for their friend when this happened. The first few times it happened they lectured him on his poor care, but it proved futile. The man couldn't take the time to pause.

John sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket. Lafayette had blown it up with texts in the small amount of time it took him to get lost in his train of thought, and he huffed. The man was practically incoherent in his hurried texts.

Laf: _John_ , _you are not being at work. I tried your office phone._

Laf: _John, why is Thomas ongry?_

Laf: _Where has Alex done this time? Thomas kicked me out for today._

Laf: _I'm going to the Alex oportnment. Meet me there._

John frowned. Lafayette always had struggled with the difference between an 'o' and an 'a', but John had learned quickly that he generally meant 'a' when using 'o'. Jefferson was angry? The doctor looked toward the occupied bathroom, a sudden hypothesis playing in his mind. When John teased Alex, the smaller man would always retaliate with a snide remark, but this time he had simply stomped straight to the bathroom without nothing more than a growl.

John prepared a large amount of Chicken fried rice as he waited for Alex to come out for him to question, but was interrupted by an abrupt knock on the apartment door. He lowered the stove burner before walking to the door, ignoring Alex's exclamation to keep whoever it was out. John rolled his eyes as he jerked the door open, only having to attempt to pull twice before it complied to his strength.

"Alex, mon ami! You have me worried sic-"

Lafayette blinked at John in confusion, but entered the home regardless.

"Where is Alex?" The french man asked, shutting the door with a none too gentle kick. The door groaned in protest at the treatment, much like the entirety of the building did at random times. As Lafayette took the time to look around the crumbling apartment for the umpteenth time, the man's nose wrinkled in disgust. Mold was growing along the corners of the room, the entire apartment smelled faintly of smoke despite Alex never having touched a cigarette, and the walls were disgustingly spotted with yellow and brown. The only signs of life in the apartment were the outdated TV in the living-room, the sound of running water, and the scent of food wafting from the kitchen.

Laurens made his way back into the kitchen, stirring his rice to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.

"He's in the bathroom. Came back looking like he took a nice dip in a muddy lake, and asked me to come with his spare key to the apartment."

"I will never get used to this dump, pure onarchy." Lafayette grumbled, following John into the kitchen. This room was in no better shape than the last, full of broken counter tops, a barely running fridge, and peeling wallpaper.

John was about to respond, but the lack of water made him pause. A grunt, followed by the creaking of a door, resulted in a wet but clean Alexander tumbling out of the bathroom and onto the floor. The man had by some miracle kept hold of the towel around his waist, but it still didn't stop John and Lafayette from laughing at his expense. The small male stood up and began shouting insults in his friends' direction, in English and French. This was more of a relief than John could ever ask for, so he contained his laughter and left an amused smile on his face as he regarded the shouting Alex.

"Alex, go put clothes on or we'll eat this without you." John commanded. Alex huffed, eyeing the cooked rice contemplatively before pivoting and rushing to his room. The door was slammed shut behind him, provoking a sudden shouting next door.

"Alexander Hamilton, that is the last time I'll let this slide! I'm trying to sleep!" A nasally voice shouts through the wall, eliciting an eye roll from the two kitchen occupants. They could hear Alex's groan through the bedroom door.

"Go back into your coma, you old Cougar!" He shouted in response. This went on for a few minutes, and as it did so, John Laurens took it upon himself to plate the rice and set up the table. By the time he was finished, Lafayette had chimed in on the arguing. Laurens slumped into his chair and waited for the old lady to tire out. It didn't take long, so the apartment became blissfully silent as Alexander exited his room fully clothed. His cheeks were tinted pink from anger, and his hair was still sopping wet, but he was clothed nonetheless. John sat up straighter in his chair, and gestured to the seat across from him. Lafayette took it upon himself to sit directly next to John.

"Sit Alex, we have much to discuss over lunch."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hello readers! It's been a little while since I've updated, but here's the third chapter for Take a Break, Son. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope to get the next chapter up relatively soon!**_

* * *

Alexander hadn't realized he was so hungry, but the moment he began to inhale the food John had so thoughtfully prepared, his stomach growled aggravatingly at the time it took to finally gain nutrients. Even with the concerned stares the man could feel on him, he continued to ignore his friends in favor of shoveling the rice into his mouth. John always had been a fantastic cook.

"Alexander-" John stated in warning, but he sighed loudly before the doctor could press any further.

"Yes, I went fishing with President Washington and _Jefferson_ -" Alexander paused long enough in his sentence to sneer at the name as it left his mouth, as if he was disgusted by uttering said name at all." And yes, President Washington left after ordering us to take a break and spend time alone at Monticello so we'd learn to get along because Jefferson caused me to hook Mr. President with a fishhook, and yes, I fell in the pond, but only because that Francophile-no offense Laf-pulled me in with him, even though he very much deserved to swim with the fishes."

John and Lafayette stared at Alexander with something akin to wonder as the man began to spill the story, his words blurring together the longer he spoke. The man's speed at which he spoke was one to rival a high school debate club member. After his story was told, the man promptly returned to finishing his half empty bowl. John and Lafayette shared a look of bemusement at their friend's antics. The man was pouting in every sense of the word.

"Alex, did you say a break at Monticello?" John inquired, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Fantastic!" Lafayette exclaimed, "You and Thomas can finally see you are meant-"

"No." Alex interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "I will go to Monticello so I don't lose my job, and I will annoy Jefferson until he either kicks me out or leaves himself. Then I will return to work, our relationship just as it should be-nonexistent."

As the male finished his meal, he stood up promptly. He pulled out his water-logged phone, setting it on the counter top so he could grab a bowl. Alex searched around for a minute within his cupboard, a frustrated groan escaping his lips as he could not find whatever it was he was searching for.

"Dammit, Laurens. Where's the rice?" He asked, a fidgety hand running through his wet hair. John smiled coyly. He found it amusing to watch his friend come so undone at the mere mention of Jefferson's name.

"Next to the oven you just passed."

Lafayette sighed in resignation, looking very much put out. John, however, was not about to be defeated so easily. The man waited for Alex to complete his little project before speaking. He watched the brunet pour a copious amount of rice into the bowl, then jam his flashing phone into the uncooked rice. Alex huffed, sitting back down on at the kitchen table, effectively banging his knee on the table as he did so. Alex swore, his hand flying to the injured knee to nurse it.

"Have you packed yet?" The doctor inquired, taking a bite of his rice. Alex pushed his now empty bowl away, a scowl forming as he did so. The man fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably, attempting to find a distraction from the conversation. The rundown apartment was not much of a conversation topic, and so he was forced to respond to the conversation at hand.

"No." He grumbled, pointedly not looking at the two men across from him. John smirked, pushing his half empty bowl toward the middle of the table. Lafayette chuckled softly, a wide grin forming as he caught on to John's plan.

"Mon ami, John and I will be glad to help you pack."

* * *

"What do you think Laf?"

"No, John, Alex looks terrible in purple."

"But it's Jefferson's favorite color!"

Alex groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation. His friends were unbelievably irritating. John and Lafayette were pulling the majority of his clothes from their homes in the closet and dresser onto his bed, picking out the ones they deemed successful in making him look attractive. They were ignoring his pleas of packing solely sweat pants, and the pile of 'no's were growing much larger than the 'yes's upon the once freshly made bed.

"Honestly, John, you've been swooning around President Washington too long. The way into a _young_ man's bed is not through wearing his favorite color. Especially when Alex looks like a-how you say- _clown_ when wearing this color." Lafayette drawled, causing a rush of heat to flush John and Alexander's face for entirely different reasons. If he hadn't just been insulted, Alex would have laughed at John's silence in regards to his apparent 'swooning'.

"Wait a minute! I'm not try-"

"Honestly, Alexander, why do you even have a purple button up? Just put that one in the trash, John."

Alex groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He watched as John looked between Lafayette and the small trashcan next to Alex's messy bedside table. He raced forward just as John decided their French friend was correct, tossing the cloth in the direction of the trash can. Alex caught it before it could reach the metal bin, his eyes narrowing at his so called friends.

"I," Alex huffed, placing the shirt down on the bed gently, "happen to like this shirt. I wore it to my job interview that gave me the job I have today."

Alex glared at Lafayette, who rolled his eyes at the sentimental statement. He muttered in his native tongue a few obscene words before sighing dramatically.

"Very well. You can keep the obomination." Lafayette drawled, receiving a victorious whoop from Alex. John rolled his eyes at the childish display, but smiled nonetheless.

The moment was soon ruined by Alex's phone blaring a distorted version of his friends' rap through the apartment. The voices sounded underwater, but the sound was no quieter than before its ruin. Alex grimaced and raced to the kitchen, wanting to reach the phone before the call could end. He knocked into the kitchen chair along the way, quietly cursing the offending furniture as he rubbed the aching side of his hip. That would most definitely leave a bruise later.

Alex carefully took the phone from its place in the bowl of rice he had it in, glaring at the screen as it flashed on and off. The rice had seemed to do nothing to help his phone's state of ruin.

The short man carried the phone out to his porch, wrenching the door open haphazardly. Taking another look at the phone, it was no longer flicking in between a state of blackness, but now had neon lines running through the screen artistically. The lines were the only thing visible to Alex, the normal screen unable to peek through. With careful determination, he clicked the area he knew the answer button to be, and swiped it to the left to answer it. As the rapping subdued, he took that as an indication that he successfully answered the incoming phone call. Alex raised the device up to his ear, briefly wondering if the device could shock him if he held it too long.

"Alexander Hamilton, at your service." He chirped, feigning happiness.

"Hamilton, you better be ready. We have a change of plans, we're leaving as soon as I get to your apartment." Jefferson's sharp southern accent floated out of the phone, the bite to his words diminished somewhat by the underwater quality to his voice.

"What?! Why? How did you get my number? And you don't even know my apartment complex's address!" Alex retorted back, his voice raising before dropping rapidly at the sound of his elderly neighbor begin her screeching again. A quiet pause followed his protest, and Alex was almost convinced the call had dropped.

"Washington gave me both." Jefferson replied smoothly. "Now get ready. I'll be there in five minutes."

The call ended, as signaled by the quiet buzzing now in Alexander's ear. The brunet groaned, pocketing his phone and pushing his front door back open. In the hallway, Lafayette and John stood, innocent smiles on their face. His suitcase was on display next to Lafayette, the green rectangle seeming to be packed full. Their innocence reminded Alex of anything but, and he suddenly wondered what they had done.

"Who was that, mon ami?" Lafayette questioned, a knowing grin placed cockily on his face. The question was enough to make the brunet forget about the false innocence, and his anger at Jefferson re-surged. Alex scowled, grabbing his only other pair shoes that sat next to the soaked, ruined pair he was contemplating throwing away. He slipped them on, the black converse in a similar state of ruin minus the water. The worn state of the converse were a sight to behold, but they were Alex's favorite shoes.

"Jefferson." Alex grumbled, tying his shoelaces haphazardly, double-knotting them at the last second. Lafayette's grin grew wider, intriguing John.

"And did he say how he got said information?" The Frenchman inquired.

Alex sighed, pulling himself back to a standing position. The male grabbed his packed suitcase, carrying the surprisingly heavy case to the open door. "Washington. Is my laptop in here?"

The two friends followed Alex curiously, wondering what he was doing. As far as they were aware, Alex wouldn't leave for Monticello until tomorrow.

"Uh, yes I do believe so," Lafayette replied, but was not concerned with the question. Alex nodded affirmatively, deeming everything of need was packed and ready for him. "Actually, mon ami, Thomas got them- Hey where are you going?"

Lafayette followed Alex as the brunet began descending the stairs, John following close behind once the apartment door was locked.

"Change of plans. We're leaving now." Alex grunted, picking up his pace as he began to hear a loud car horn beeping impatiently.

Lafayette and John shared a look. They both knew Thomas Jefferson was not a man to stray from his initial plan. There must be an issue that arose at Monticello for him to unexpectedly leave today.

The moment Alex's feet landed on the parking lot, his eyes landed on a black Ferrari, the driver not even visible with the tint. Alex's eyes narrowed, and he promptly turned back around to go back into his apartment. He ran into his friends, who smiled coyly at him. Lafayette and John twisted the brunet back around, pushing him in the direction of the expensive car. Alex huffed, his eyes landing on the driver as the cocky man exited the raised door.

Jefferson was wearing a pair of burgundy jeans with a lilac button up, a few buttons undone to reveal dark, toned skin underneath. His hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and the man was arguing audibly on his phone. Lafayette began to shout in French toward his housemate, disregarding his irritated look. Alex grumbled as John pushed him toward the trunk of the car, shifting his grip on the bag before placing it into the now open trunk. Jefferson paused in his conversation long enough to look at the color of his suitcase. abhor

"Green. Figures." Jefferson snorted, before returning to his phone. Alex began to retort back, but a none too gentle slap to the back of the head via John quieted him quickly. Alex was most definitely dreading this break.

Before he knew it, Alex was coaxed into the passenger seat and waving halfheartedly to his friends. He felt much too cheap to be sitting within a car as expensive as Jefferson's, and despite his fidgeting habits, he did his best to remain still. He remained quiet until Jefferson's phone call was finished, the man seeming under a lot more stress in the time span of the morning and now. Once the call ended, Jefferson turned a radio station on. The country music suddenly blared from the speakers, causing Alex to jump. He groaned, glaring at Jefferson as he drove. They began to bicker over the loud music, Alex demanding he turn the godawful music off.

* * *

Lafayette and John waited in the parking lot for a few moments longer than necessary. They had watched Alex leave with Thomas, the smaller male looking absolutely miserable sitting within the car.

"Think they'll end up together?" John asked, glancing at Lafayette. The man in turn laughed.

"Of course they will, they're meant to be," He replied confidently. "John, would you care to enjoy a nice dinner with me, or are you in a rush to get back to you precious Washington?"

John flushed at Lafayette's teasing comment, shooting his friend an amused look.

"Dinner sounds lovely, Laf. I'll drive us."

Lafayette cheered at the statement, bounding over to John's car with more energy than a child. John unlocked it, and settled into the driver's seat comfortably.

"Hey Laf, you were trying to tell Alex that Jefferson didn't get his number and address from Washington. If he lied, then where did it come from?" Laurens questioned, pulling out of parking lot and in the direction of town. Lafayette chuckled, the sound almost mischievous.

"Oh, I have been placing-what are those little things called-yes, sticky notes, with Alex's number and address written on it on Thomas's bathroom mirror every day for months."


	4. Chapter 4

Alexander stood next to Jefferson, his foot tapping impatiently as he held onto his luggage tightly. His patience had reached its end, and his mood was so sour that he had no desire to bite back at the little comments his rival continued to make. The car ride was just as miserable as he had anticipated. As he stood beneath the portico, he glared out gloomily into the acres of land.

Monticello stood tall and lavish, larger than any home Alex had been in, save for the White House. The door was paneled with windows, similar large windows scaping the entire front of the house. The house appeared to be at least two stories, with a seemingly accessible porch above the almost snorted at the site of the house. This wasn't a house, it was a mansion.

Jefferson opened the strikingly white door, pulling the man next to him away from the details of the house. Alex stepped forward to enter, but Jefferson threw his ridiculously long arm in the doorway to block him from entering.

"If you break anything in here, you buy it."

Alexander scoffed and rolled his eyes, pushing the offending arm out of the way before taking an exaggerated step forward. The moment his entire body was inside the house, Alexander couldn't help but gape. The decorations hung inside were nothing like the outside of the home. Everything within was just so...homey. The entrance hall was very spacious, but the little trinkets and portraits hanging along the warm green walls made the house look as if it was lived in. The natural lighting filtering in from the large windows filled the room with a sweet ambiance. The few lights turned on were dull in comparison.

"Mr. Jefferson, sir! Mr. Jeffer-uh," A woman exclaimed before faltering, her voice breaking way to confusion as she took notice that Alexander was indeed not 'Mr. Jefferson'.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Jefferson's lover! We've heard so much about you!" The woman squealed, rushing up to the alarmed Secretary. Lover? What was this woman on? Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Jefferson's voice carried across the room before he could say anything.

"Sally, he is not my lover." Jefferson growled impatiently. "Now where the hell is Gregory?"

The woman, now known as Sally, blinked in confusion at her boss's statement. She glanced at Alexander skeptically, who could only smile weakly in response. She sighed in resignation before pointing toward a redwood door. Alex frowned, not completely understanding the events that just occurred. Who the hell is Gregory?

Jefferson walked toward the door, no, prowled toward it. He had a darkened demeanor, as if he was zeroing in on a prey Alexander hadn't been aware existed. The tall man paused as his hand rested on the intricate doorknob, something Alexander would have to remember to make fun of later.

"Show Mr. Hamilton to a guest room. Any will suffice, Sally." He stated gruffly before jerking the door open. Alexander couldn't see much inside the room, but not for a lack of trying. The door was closed before he could make out anything, the light far too dim in the room to make out features. The shadow of two figures in the room loomed in his peripheral near Jefferson, but before his eyes could adjust to the darkened room the door promptly slammed shut. Alexander huffed quietly, diverting his eyes from the intriguing door. Sally popped back into his vision abruptly, scaring the Secretary of Treasury enough to make him jump. The lady chuckled and smiled at him despite the scowl now firmly planted onto his face.

"This way, Mr. Hamilton. I will show you to your room," Sally offered politely, moving from the entrance hall into the heart of the first floor gracefully. Alexander followed behind, unusually quiet as he took in the intricately homey decor. This was not the type of home Alexander Hamilton had pictured one Thomas Jefferson to have. This was all homey and lived in, despite the large size. Walls were full of worn maps, each one varying in degree of completion. Ink splattered the maps haphazardly, with a few thumbprints visible among the splotches. The maps were among a sea of family pictures and a smiling Jefferson. The sight glued Alexander to the expensive wood flooring, his mouth parted in wonder at the sight. He had only seen Jefferson smirk and scowl. That's not to say he thought the male couldn't or didn't smile, he just never had half of a chance to see it for himself. The sight, so perfectly captured and framed left an odd taste to his mouth.

"Mr. Hamilton?"

Sally's bemused voice snapped Alex out of his trance. He snapped his head in her direction, ignoring the heat of his cheeks as he was caught. The woman stood on the third step of a set of stairs, resting her tiny hand on the delicately carved railing. He hastily adjusted his grip on his suitcase, wondering when his palm had gotten so sweaty.

"Sorry," the male muttered, clearing his throat as his eyes flitted down to the floor. In doing so, Alexander missed the small grin Sally gave as she glanced back at the picture.

"Come, Mr. Hamilton. I will show you to the guest bedroom, then you are free to look around." Sally assured, which made Alex's cheeks flush darker. He grumbled and rubbed at one cheek with his free hand, attempting to will the blush away. Despite his embarrassment, the secretary of treasure followed Sally up the staircase at a hurried pace. They stopped at the second floor and Alex allowed himself a curious glance up the stairs that led to the third floor before quickly falling in step with Sally so as not to repeat making a fool of himself. The guest room was two doors down from the staircase, providing easy access to any other floor he should so desire to explore. He smiled his thanks as Sally opened the door for him, setting the forest green suitcase onto the surprisingly large bed. The bed was pushed against the farthest baby blue wall, centered out nicely. The comforter and pillows were an array of blue shades. The curtains had been pulled back to allow sunlight in, the dark blue material looking thick enough to shut out any light when need-be. The thought made Alexander smile softly.

"Dinner will be ready in two hours, Mr. Hamilton. If you need help finding anything, Mr. Jefferson should be available soon if you feel uncomfortable asking me," Sally informed, giving the man one last smile before shutting the door. The woman was gone before Alex could even think of thanking her. He huffed and landed next to his suitcase rather unceremoniously, the weight of the suitcase bouncing lightly as he did so. The man groaned, tugging on his hair in pure frustration. What on earth was he doing here? He should be working right now, keeping up with the national bank and handling the newest international requests to borrow money. The work never stopped, and it certainly wouldn't just because Hamilton had been revoked working privileges. With one last huff, Alex gently ran his fingers through his hair to ease the irritation his tugging had caused to his scalp.

Alex sighed as he realized he had more time than necessary to unpack and settle in. He began to unzip the suitcase, wanting to put away the few clothes he had brought for his week long stay. After he was finished, he assumed he'd be able to work on a few new articles on his laptop. He could get the wifi password later when he ran into Jefferson. If he ran into Jefferson. For all he knew, that was the last he would see of the man until the week was over. Alexander let out a scoff at the thought, rolling his eyes as he flipped the top part of the suitcase over to get to his clothes. As his eyes landed on contents of his bag, Alex found his cheeks heating up to an impossibly red color.

"Lafayette," the male hissed, rubbing his thumbs over his eyelids. He could feel a migraine thudding beneath his eyes, but the pain did nothing to lessen his embarrassment. He tossed the offending contents to the side, a scowl prominently in place. Sex toys? They put sex toys in his suitcase?! His friends were unbelievable.

* * *

Alexander sat atop the roof floor of Monticello, his eyes trained onto the screen filled full of words. Black enveloped Alexander, save for the light of his laptop illuminating his lithe figure. Bugs would occasionally flock to the beacon of light, but he simply swatted them away absentmindedly. He was sitting in a metal chair with his legs beneath him, his laptop resting on a glass table as he typed away furiously. He muttered to himself little snip-its of commentary about his thought process. The man was so drawn into his writing that he didn't notice the door to the roof open and close. The sound was quiet, covered by his continuous muttering.

"No! Dammit," Alexander swore, furiously hitting the backspace repeatedly. "Stupid, stupid. It won't hold up, the supporting data isn't strong enough."

Thomas Jefferson quickly realized his unlikely house guest had not taken notice of his presence. He took the time to watch his rival, tilting his head curiously as he observed the madness that Hamilton considered to be writing.

Hamilton had traded jeans and a button down for a long sleeve shirt that had Columbia University written along the back in big, block letters and a pair of black sweat pants. His hair hung in a low ponytail, the curly hair looking to the world a frizzed mess after the man had run his fingers through it so many times. The terrible lighting prevented Thomas from getting a proper look at the male, but he would be able to do so soon. Thomas himself had changed into more comfortable clothes in their time apart. He had settled for a pair of gray joggers and a blue t-shirt, not looking to impress anyone left in his home.

The secretary of treasury began to mutter to himself about health care, many of his statements too fast for Jefferson to understand in full. The tall male rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, silently reveling as Hamilton jumped out of his chair a couple feet and slammed his computer shut roughly. The only remaining light source on top of the roof vanished, leaving both males to adjust to the darkness in order to see one another.

"What the hell, Jeffershit?!" Hamilton exclaimed, scowling as he rubbed his shin that had hit the chair on the way back down.

"Food's done," Thomas responded, turning around without another word. His lips quirked up into a smile as he heard a groan emitted from behind him. The scraping of a chair was followed soon after, and he pulled open the door. Once he had stepped into the house, his eyes protested at the new lighting. Hamilton made a noise of protest behind him, bumping into his back rather roughly. Thomas stumbled a few steps, grunting as he used the wall to push himself back into balance.

"Christ, Hamilton, I didn't know you'd be trying to fall for me this week." The words were out of Thomas's mouth before he could stop them. Both males tensed at the joke, staring in surprise at one another. Something in the shorter male's eyes flickered, before the gaze was dropped.

"Um-"

"Food," Thomas supplied helpfully, eager to move past the awkward tension and simply eat. He had spent close to an hour searching for Hamilton before he found him on the rooftop. After the issue with Gregory, Thomas had no anger or patience left in him to pick a fight with Hamilton for the night.

"Food." Hamilton parroted, nodding his head ever so slightly. Both males headed for the staircase, and well, if Alexander Hamilton was still blushing from Jefferson's comment, neither made any indication toward addressing it.


	5. Chapter 5

The two politicians made it down to the dining room without any further embarrassment, though the tension was still prominent. Sally was awaiting the two with a neutral smile and a plate in each hand. Alexander could still feel the faint heat of his blush on his cheeks and as he caught Sally's eye, the heat renewed with vigor. This woman had caught him staring at Jefferson's picture earlier today and had mistaken him for her boss's lover no less. He was not eager to know her thoughts on him. With his continued mortification, the short man took great care in choosing a seat far from Jefferson. It was a simple task, really, considering there were at least a dozen chairs surrounding the long dining table. After both males had settled in, by no means any more comfortable, Sally sat their plates down in front of them.

"Enjoy, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Hamilton. Should you need anything else, you can find me in the kitchen," Sally chirped, clapping her hands together softly.

"Thank you, Sally," came Jefferson's taught reply, though the admiration seeping in his voice voided the stiffness. Alexander glanced between the two curiously. Just as he had never seen such a carefree and happy smile from his rival, he had never heard that soft tone enter his voice either. Alexander stumbled out a thank you as well, picking up a fork eagerly. His stomach grumbled at the smell of the hot food, enticing him to quickly shovel the food into his mouth. The burst of flavor from the baked turkey elicited a soft moan from the politician. Laurens' was a decent cook, but this was the work of a professional. He had not had such a wonderful tasting meal in years. The thought of Jefferson getting such a high quality meal whenever he'd like sent a spike of jealousy through him, but he squashed the feeling down.

Thomas began to eat slowly. The day in and of itself started off draining, with his morning ending full of rage in the middle of a murky pond. The moment the rage began to dwindle after a much needed shower, it exploded once more with a single phone call. Gregory, a trusted butler who had worked at Monticello for years, had leaked personal information to the press. And to put the cherry on top of the melted sundae, it looked as if some of his mother's jewelry had been stolen as well. The male picked at his food for the most part, feeling far too tired to consume much food. Thomas gave no indication of acknowledging Hamilton's presence until the most obscene sound slipped from his mouth. His hand tightened on the fork in response before he could stupidly allowed himself to drop it.

With careful caution, Thomas glanced at the other end of the table to take in Hamilton's appearance. The man had already eaten half of his plate, looking to all the world as if he was in pure bliss. He had never seen his rival break down his prim and perfect walls like this before and the sight was oddly captivating. Hamilton's hair was pulled back into a loose bun and his entire body was lax in comparison to the tenseness Thomas had seen earlier as he had been writing. The moan baffled the man. Had Hamilton even known it slipped out? He must not have, considering his habits had not changed. The thought relaxed Thomas somewhat and he was content to pretend he hadn't heard the sound.

"I apologize for rushing us to my estate so quickly," Thomas found himself saying. The abrupt voice pulled Hamilton out of his daze, his head snapping up in response. A bit of mashed potatoes fell from the fork he held, but he ignored it in favor of sizing up Jefferson. Jefferson returned his eyes to his plate self-consciously. It was rare that either one of them initiated a calm conversation of their own volition. Alexander sighed softly and felt himself pushing back against the urge to reply rudely.

"An employee of mine-"

"It's fine, Jefferson," Alexander interrupted, shoveling the last bit of food into his mouth. He wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin folded next to him before tossing it onto his empty plate carelessly. "Your private business is no concern of mine, I'm just glad you didn't wreck us on our way here in your mindless rage."

Jefferson's mouth twitched in amusement and he sighed as he pushed his half eaten plate aside. Somehow the twat always knew just what to say.

"Please, I'm a better driver than you in any situation," he scoffed, his eyebrows raising in challenge. Alexander snorted, shaking his head in response. The man abruptly scooted his chair back, eliciting a small jump from Thomas as he did so. The smug smirk plastered onto the shorter mans face was enough to make Thomas scowl. He watched curiously as the male took his plate and disappeared through the kitchen door. The act surprised him. His many workers were around for house work and menial tasks. There was no reason for Hamilton to take the plate, and yet he did so anyway.

Hamilton soon returned, looking less relaxed than before he had left the dining room. Thomas said nothing, but raised one eyebrow in question. Hamilton huffed, his cheeks tinging pink as he pointedly looked away from Thomas. Well that was interesting. What had Sally done to Hamilton?

"I need access to my...well it doesn't matter. Give me your WiFi password and I'll be out of your hair for the night," Hamilton demanded. The words made Thomas freeze for a moment. Well this was a hard choice- give in to Hamilton's rude demand, or deal with a whining Hamilton for an undetermined amount of time. His lips curved upward in a grin.

Oh boy. Alexander knew that grin. His body reacted instinctively, tensing and locking up and remaining ease he felt around the man. During dinner he had forgotten who he was housing with for the week to come. Jefferson never did anything for anyone else and loved to make people's lives miserable, but especially so when it came to Alexander's. He never should have let his guard down around this man.

"No."

It was a simple word, no. There was nothing special about it and Alexander has always heard it out of various mouths over his years. Making a place in the government of the United States is difficult for any man and woman, but it is nearly impossible for immigrants. He had been lucky his perseverance landed him beneath George Washington's wings. But there was something about the cocky grin, the glint in Jefferson's eye, that infuriating southern drawl that little word was coated in that threw him in to a blinding rage.

"No?" Hamilton growled out. The sound drew Thomas's grin out wider and he leaned further back into his chair.

"No. You don't get to demand things from people, Hamilton. Especially not in their home." Thomas spoke, lacing his fingers together. Hamilton stared at him long and hard. At first Thomas wondered if he had broken the short male. There was little to no response as they stared one another down. Thomas had little time to respond as he watched Hamilton's eyes flicker to his half eaten plate. The male grabbed it furiously. Did Hamilton often clean when he was mad? The thought was abruptly shattered as the plate was unceremoniously shoved into his face. He gasped and flinched back, but the damage was done. He wiped mashed potatoes from his eyes, the plate tumbling to the floor.

Alexander blinked owlishly at the sight of Jefferson covered in mashed potatoes and turkey. The sight would've been hilarious if he wasn't the one at fault for it. Why had he done that? Mindless panic took over his instincts. His flight or fight mode kicked in as the man's eyes opened back up. He promptly turned around and walked out of the dining room as quickly as he could. The moment he was out of sight, he made a dash for the stairs. It took a total of ten seconds for him to make his way back to the room deigned his for the week. He shut the door rather loudly, wincing at the sound. He locked the door, letting loose the breathe he didn't know he was holding.

Alexander groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. He was quick to anger, but he had never shoved someone's food into their face. As he let his hand fall, he frowned. Jefferson was going to kill him and bury his body. They would never find him again. He sighed and flopped onto his bed, pushing his now loose hair from his face. He must have lost the hair tie in his panicked escape. The short male found he was much more tired than he had originally thought, as he quickly succumbed to sleep nestled in the comfortable bed. He passed out peacefully, unaware of the smudge of mashed potatoes resting on his cheek.

* * *

Thomas stared at the place Hamilton once occupied, a rare dumbfounded expression settled onto his face. He couldn't contain his laughter as he felt it bubble up inside him, nor did he particularly want to. He sat at the dining table, covered in his dinner and laughing heartily. No one had ever had the guts to start a food fight with him since his siblings moved away.

"Mr. Jefferson?" Sally peeked out of the kitchen door, her eyes scanning the vast dining room. "Are you-oh god!"

Sally rushed to her mess of a boss, her eyes wide in confused panic. The look on her face brought a whole new round of laughter, but he stayed relatively still as she began cleaning the food from his face.

"What happened, sir?" She asked, unable to keep the smile from her face as his laughter subsided to the occasional chuckle.

"Hamilton. What else," Thomas replied, his words laced with a hint of exasperation and something else he didn't care to acknowledge as he spoke. Sally frowned at this new tidbit of information. Thomas's guest didn't seem like the type to do such a thing without reason.

"If you don't mind my asking, what did you do to Mr. Hamilton? I doubt he could have done such a thing without provocation," Sally stated wryly, picking the last piece of turkey from Thomas's hair. Thomas tinged pink at the question, but his smile didn't diminish.

"I told him no. Hamilton's always had a hard time taking no for an answer," Thomas explained, sighing. A shower was in order now that most of the food was removed. His hair was no doubt caked in mashed potatoes. "Then again, this time it was unnecessary for me to say no. I am loathe to admit I deserved his anger, as childish as his reaction was."

Sally sighed, picking up the fallen plate. She stared at her boss for a moment before shaking her head.

"I don't pretend to understand what your intentions are with him, but it's obvious you have a soft spot for him. He seems fragile, so just don't-don't break him." Sally warned, staring at him pointedly before taking the plate and mess of napkins back into the kitchen. As he watched the door swing back and forth for a few seconds before settling back into place, his good mood diminished a fraction. He had no intentions with Hamilton other than to irritate him. Sally was rarely wrong though, so her words worried him. What was she seeing that he wasn't?

Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed a nice hot shower and a full eight hours of sleep before he could deal with this.


End file.
